Chapter 2
Rain pours down hard, drowning out all sound except the noise of cars tooting in the distance, as I push open the door and step out onto the streets of London.
It’s past midnight on a Tuesday. There aren’t many people hurrying along in the rain. There’s no crowd I can disappear in to lose my chaser. Not even a bloody taxi.
Then I see the familiar red, white, and blue “Underground” sign and start to run again. Water sprays up my legs as I splash in a puddle on the sidewalk, my bag crashing against my side with each step.
The rain’s too loud for footsteps to be heard above it, and I don’t dare turn around.
When I planned this mission, I didn’t anticipate pissing off the wrong people and having to run for my life—literally, as I sprint across the street to the Tube station.
My lungs burn with every breath as I hurry down to the Underground. Dodging through a small group of students, I mutter a quick apology and sprint toward the platform as if my life depends on it.
Because it does.
Footsteps thunder behind me. The sound echoes in my mind, blending with the blood rush in my ears.
I need to reach the Tube. This is my only way out. My only chance.
I can’t get caught by him.
When I reach the platform, the train doors are already closing.
No, no, no!
“Wait!” I yell, waving frantically.
A young guy with glasses sees me and holds out his arm, stopping the doors just in time.
I jump inside and grab the nearest handrail. When I turn around, my gaze meets Reaper’s through the window.
His dark eyes narrow behind his mask. He sprints toward us, but he’s too far away.
The doors close, and the Tube sets off.
Somehow, I manage a bold smile and a wave. Watching him standing there fuming feels pretty satisfying.
I’m still breathing way too hard from the exertion of my run, my clothes damp and sweat dripping down my back.
But I got away.
For now.
I take a quick glimpse of my phone to check the clock, then I turn it off and shove it into my pocket, my mind racing.
Reaper saw me get on the Tube, so he knows exactly which direction I’m heading. I could get off at the next station and switch trains, send him on a scavenger hunt across the city, but he’s probably not working alone.
For the first time since I jumped in, I look around. The Tube is pretty empty, only a handful of people traveling at this time of night. I’m easily detectable here, just as I would be at every other station.
I need a better plan.
When the train pulls in at the next station and I see the travel advertisement for a charming English village, I know exactly what to do.
On the outside, I may seem calm, just a young woman wandering across London in the middle of the night, looking around as if I’m making sure no one is following me—not off the Tube, not through the streets, not to the bus station—but on the inside?
I’m dying, even though there’s no trace of anyone chasing me now. No sign of him.
Even so, my heart pounds erratically, and my hands tremble as I approach the next bus departing London.
I need to get out of the city—right fucking now.
“Hold on, Miss.” The driver seems almost worried. He’s an older guy with white hair and bushy brows who could be my granddad if he were still alive. “Are you all right? Do you have a ticket?”
“Yes, sure.” I shove some random paper from my bag in his face and pass by, praying he’ll buy it and won’t ask for a closer look.
Hurrying down the bus, I take a seat at the back and press my bag against me as if I just stole the crown jewels from the Tower of London.
In reality, there’s only a flash drive in there.
But this flash drive is worth more than my life.
Thankfully, the driver starts the engine a second later.
I sink deeper into my seat, pulling my hood over my damp hair. My ears are still ringing from the alarm, and I can practically hear the echo of his footsteps, but there’s no sign of Reaper either inside or outside the bus.
My body coils and shudders at the thought.
I’ve heard rumors about him. People say he buried one of his enemies alive and waited patiently beside the grave for the poor guy to slowly suffocate.
He’s the man Los Castillos send to collect money, bones, and souls, and when he finds me, we won’t exactly be sitting down for a nice chitchat.
I may work on the outskirts of the law myself, since I’m a thief and all, but I know enough about the different Mafia clans in this city to know when I should run for the hills.
Immediately, my eyes dart around the coach.
There’s a couple sitting at the back of the bus near me, an old lady with an enormous bag knitting two rows in front of me, and some dude with giant headphones drowning out everything around him in sound.
None of them pay me any interest. None of them sense Death might have boarded the bus with me.
I’m safe.
At least for now, as I watch London’s luminous skyline disappear until the darkness swallows it up.
I suck in a deep breath, forcing my rapid heartbeat to slow down. I need to think.
Though I took off unprepared, now’s the time to plan my next steps.
First, I’ve got to hide. I have to disappear, to be completely off-grid, and then I can think about what’s next. And how to deliver the data to my customer without getting slaughtered by the Mafia.
I sigh. Well, the only good thing about all this is that at least it’s not the police or the MI5 chasing after me, what with them having access to CCTV, my bank accounts, my phone, and everything else. They’d be able to watch every step I take.
But having the Mafia breathing down my neck instead? Los Castillos? They’re hardly a better substitute. Even if I make it out of London unseen and find a place to hide, the Reaper won’t just handcuff me and put me in prison to await my trial. Oh no, no, no. He’ll murder me in the most brutal way.
Until then, I’ll be left wondering if he’ll kill me fast or painfully slow.
But the sad part about this—besides losing my life, obviously?
No one will miss me. Well, no one besides my cat.
I’m a ghost. A thief. A shadow. I have no friends—not real ones anyway—and no family.
Maybe Trace, the hacker who hired me for this job, will miss me, but I’m pretty sure he’ll mourn the files he didn’t get more than my untimely death.
There are plenty of thieves out there who’d love to get their hands dirty for the right amount of cash, though not everyone can do what I do.
I’m in the higher price range, stealing stuff others deem impossible. Like data files from Los Castillos.
No one in their right mind would willingly go head-to-head with the Mafia clans in this city. At least not without the protection of another syndicate.
I’ve never had that. I work as a freelancer, with all the risks, and without any kind of protection from any of the families. No one will get me out of this mess I got myself into, and no one will shed a tear if I die.
Through the window, I watch as we drive deeper into rural areas, until the coach stops on the side of the road somewhere between London and Manchester. It’s not my final destination, but I stand up anyway. Better to throw off any pursuer who might have seen me get on the bus.
“Are you sure you want to exit here, Miss?” the grandfatherly bus driver asks.
It’s pitch-black outside, and I’m the only person getting off. The’s only one car behind us, and it slows down as I step out.
My pulse quickens, and my stomach tightens. I wait a moment for the car to pass, then I take a deep breath. “Yes, I’m sure. Cheers!”
I watch the bus drive off, its taillights disappearing on the next turn, leaving me alone in the middle of nowhere. Even though I can’t see a single soul, it feels like I’m being watched.
Goose bumps erupt on my skin, and I clutch my bag tighter.
The moon lights my way as I follow the narrow road along, no houses, no people, only the sounds of sheep and cows in the distance. Wind bites at my skin, but it’s not raining anymore. At least my clothes are dry after the drive. Still, the cold creeps in anyway, and soon I start to shiver.
My phone is still turned off, and I’m too afraid to use it.
No way am I stupid enough to reveal my location by turning it on now.
Without a watch and a phone, though, I have no idea how long I’ve been on the run.
All I know is, it’s still dark when a small building appears out of nowhere on the side of the road.
Greyish sandstone walls. Narrow windows, completely dark. A reddish-looking roof with a tall spire. And an old graveyard right next to it.
A church.
A bitter laugh bubbles up in the back of my throat, cynical and slightly panicked, but I hold it back. Of course the first building I stumble upon on my run from the Devil is a church. I can almost hear my religious mother cackling from her grave.
I might go to hell for what I do for a living, but at least the universe has a sense of humor.
My feet hurt, my throat is dry, and I’m so fucking tired, but this isn’t the place for me to seek refuge. Definitely not.
Except . . . when I walk past it, I hear a sound. Low at first, almost imperceptible, but then it gets clearer. A car’s approaching. Without headlights, and too slow even for this kind of road.
“Bloody hell!”
I stumble across the road, lungs burning, legs trembling, and sprint toward the church.
“Please be open, please be open, please be—yes!”
The doors shut fast, and I press myself against them, holding my breath as I focus on each sound. The car might be louder, or I could just be hearing my blood thumping in my ears.
Seconds tick by, maybe minutes. Did the car stop? Did its driver get out?
Suddenly, the engine starts up again.
I scurry to the nearest window and press myself against the wall to take a look outside.
The car’s gone.
I stand there for another couple of minutes, waiting and ready to bolt, but nothing happens.
Nobody’s outside. No one followed me in here. It’s just my paranoia working overtime.
When I’m completely sure I’m alone, I take a quick look around, but there’s not much to see.
The church seems abandoned. The pews, the stone altar, and the giant wooden cross above it are covered in dust. Cobwebs shine under the moonlight bleeding in through some of the windows, while others are boarded up.
Not a soul seems to have been inside for months, possibly years.
After barricading the doors, I sit down on a pew, using my bag as a pillow and my jacket as a blanket. I need to rest up for a bit.
Just a couple of minutes . . . a couple of hours at most . . .
I’ll be gone before the first ray of sunlight . . . and . . .
I must have fallen asleep without realizing it, because I wake up with a jolt.
Deadly eyes stare back at me through the dark. I suck in a breath—and feel the icy blade pressed to my throat.